


I've Seen the Light

by actingwithportals



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8033920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actingwithportals/pseuds/actingwithportals
Summary: Portal au based on the Disney movie Tangled. The story will diverge from the movie a little in order to fit with a Portal theme.





	1. Prologue

_This is the story of how I died._

_I wouldn’t consider this story to be remarkably sad, at least not for myself. Because you see, it’s not even my story. This is the story of a young prince with a power unmatched by any other, and I was lucky enough to see it with my own eyes._

_Once upon a time, there was a mighty kingdom, blessed by the powers of the moon. This kingdom was called Aperture. Aperture was ruled by a king so strong and proud that no other nation dared to stand against it. Many could say the king was dearly loved, but I believe he was really feared. Out of this fear arose the need for a queen, someone to stand by him and be his guide, his support; a steady hand to stay his eccentric behavior._

_There were two sisters, members of a noble family and who had both taken the king’s fancy. The younger, with her unbridled temper and thirst for greater knowledge took the king’s initial interest. He had gone as far as to commit to proposing to her, that is until her sister entered the stage._

_Much like the younger, the elder sister was filled with a spark so dangerously bright the king could not look away. Inspired by her inquisitive nature, and better acclimated with her gentler touch, the king took her to be his queen instead. And thus began the reign of King Cave and Queen Caroline._

_The younger sister, feeling cheated out of the throne, swore to have her revenge. She waited, plotted, biding her time until the greatest of chances presented itself._

_It happened on a night when the moon was fullest. The king and queen had just brought their firstborn into the world. It was a son, blessed by the moon with the ancient powers of an art lost to all other lands. But Aperture was different. Aperture delved deep into the arts of magic long since abandoned. And because of this, because of their unrelenting quest for greater knowledge, the moon graced –or cursed- them with more power than any one land should be given._

_The younger sister knew this well, knew of the gift that would be placed on the firstborn of the greatest king to ever rule over Aperture. And in her hatred, her lust for power, she stole the child in the dead of night and vanished into the darkness, never to be seen again._

_The kingdom suffered a great loss. Mourning took over the land and every year on the day of the prince’s birth lanterns of orange and blue fire alike were released into the sky, under a silver moon, in hopes that one day the prince will find his way home again._

_This is not my story, but I have managed to entangle myself in it._

_This is the story of a prince who finds his way home._

_And the thief who died to get him there._


	2. The Usual Morning Lineup

Warm sunlight pours in through the open window, casting a shimmering golden glow into the darkened, dusty chamber. It’s no later than seven in the morning and the world outside has just started coming to life. A blue bird rests on the sill of the open window, singing a tune of good morning. All is well with the world; a fragile peace not ready to be broken.

Deep within the chamber something stirs. Hidden underneath a mountain of large blankets and numerous pillows lies a sleeping young man with no intent on leaving his quiet nest.

“It’s morning,” a soft voice tells the sleeper, causing him to stir just enough to pull the blankets more tightly around him.

“Mmm,” an unintelligible murmur can be heard coming from within the nest, accomplishing nothing but to prove he was indeed awake.

“The sun is awake so you should be too,” the voice presses, her tone insisting now.

“Five… more… minutes…” his words come out in groggily moans, still tainted with heavy sleep.

“That’s five minutes you could be spending doing something productive,” the voice chastises him, like a disapproving mother.

Slowly, like a moth emerging from its cocoon, the blankets unravel to reveal a very pale young man with bedhead so unruly it could be mistaken for a bird’s nest. A pair of mismatched blue eyes squints up at the ceiling, unwelcoming of the bright sunlight highlighting the shadows of his chamber walls.

“Good morning,” the voice greeted him, her tone returning to a softer nature.

Rolling over, the young man faced the owner of the voice, a small chameleon whose green skin carried almost more hints of grey than its own natural color. She stared back at him, eyes unblinking, watching.

“Good morning, Cube,” the young man managed through a yawn, sitting up and stretching despite his wishes to once again hide underneath his blankets.

“What will you do today?” the chameleon asked, staying in her perch on the top of his bedframe.

He didn’t answer for a moment, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes and trying to make himself accustom again to the warmth and brightness of daylight. Running long fingers through his dark hair, the young man takes a usual look around his chamber, assessing the tidiness of the floor and dresser and wardrobe in the corner, and then glancing up to a second level reached by way of a spiraling wooden staircase, the stone grey walls lit up with brilliant patterns of lights and colors and images ranging everywhere from flowers to bugs to abstract lines and circles and occasional scrawling of words and phrases senseless to those who did not pen them.

He looked back to his chameleon friend, a small smile playing across his lips. “I think I’ll paint.”

 

_“Stop her!”_

Heavy boots beat harshly against the cobblestone streets, a rhythmic _pat pat pat_ playing a tune its composer had no time to observe.

A dark streak of leather and cotton and heavy breaths coming out in great huffs zooms past street vendors and unsuspecting citizens, taking great care to sidestep any obstacle not out of courtesy for the world around her, but out of the thief’s need for an uninterrupted escape.

She had just stolen the crown of the would-be prince, after all.

A buzzing by her ear and a loud clank against a wall up ahead was the only evidence the thief needed to know that arrows were being fired in her direction. Not that this should surprise her in the least; it wouldn’t be the first time she had been shot at, and by no means did she expect it would be the last.

Slowing down just enough to take a sharp turn to her right, the thief speeds down a narrow alleyway, heading towards the appointed meeting place with her comrades, who should have secured a means of escape from the inner city walls. Clutching the bag holding her prize tightly against her side, the thief takes another turn to her right, jumps down a narrow flight of stairs, and a final turn to her left before coming face-to-face with two men sitting atop great brown horses, a third unoccupied white one tide to a post at their side.

“You’re late!” the first man shouts down to her, an older fellow with a remarkably receding hairline and deep age lines snaking across his face.

“We would’ve left you if you didn’t have the goods,” the second man put in, smaller in stature and younger in years, tuffs of red hair sticking up at odd angles and a permanent sneer taking away any chances he might have had in wooing the hearts of romantic callers.

The young woman -herself no younger than the second, but her complexion much darker than her companions, and her stature much more formidable- only huffed in response to their jeering. Without a moment of hesitation, she hoisted herself onto the white horse (who made a number of disapproving whinnies) and cut the rope tying him down free with one swift movement of her knife. She spent no time waiting on her companions before driving her heels into the horse’s sides and urging it forward into a near panicked gallop. The other two thieves following closely behind.

Exiting the inner city was no easy task. With the royal guards close on their heels and the threat of arrows looming at their backs, the trio only barely made it across the bridge unscathed, escaping into the thick forest beyond.

The young woman continued to lead the way, showing no signs of slowing down anytime soon. Her horse was fast and followed commands well until the forest grew thicker and considerably darker, and then its movements became slower, more hesitant and jerked until the thief had no choice but bring it to a halt.

“Uh, what’s the problem up there?” the younger man called ahead, he and the other catching up with her after a few moments.

The woman pointed impatiently down at her horse, whose eyes were wide and frantic and was giving the woman a great deal of trouble trying to keep him still. Ignorant of her frustration, the horse continued his nervous shifting.

“Just ditch the horse, you can ride with one of us,” the older man said, his dismissive remark seeming to somehow get through to the horse, making it only shift around more in discomfort.

The young woman looked the two men over as if she were making an appraisal of their worth. The bag still slung over her shoulder was pulled more tightly against her side, a movement not gone unnoticed by her companions.

“Hey look, we were just teasing you earlier about leaving you behind,” the younger man said, nervous laughter escaping him. “Why don’t you hand the bag over for us to hold onto for a bit? Give you some time to relax? You’ve had a pretty long day.”

Grey eyes pierced through the younger man, causing him to pull back his horse in automated recoil. The young woman glared between the two men, a series of possibilities and calculations flashing through her mind.

She had planned this all along, known coming into this deal it wasn’t going to end pleasantly for both parties. Someone was going to be betrayed, get the short end of the straw and by all the powers of the moon it wasn’t going to be her. Though she had hoped circumstances would have been more favorable -a stable horse for one- she no longer had any other choice but to play with the hand she was given.

A devious smile flashed across her lips. The day’s excitement wasn’t over yet.

“Hey, just calm down alright?” the older man said, his voice losing its prior casual tone and replaced now with a note of sternness wavered slightly by his uneasy predictions for the next moments. “Hand over the bag and we won’t have to have any problems.”

It was far too late for that. The young woman had made up her mind, and with one final look of defiance at her companions, she kicked her reluctant horse into gear, driving it forward through sheer determination and instilled terror alone.

“Get back here!” she could hear the men shout behind her, but it was useless. Nothing would stop her now. No trees, or guards, or unreliable steed would be enough to force her into a standstill. She drove forward for all she was worth, gripping the reigns tightly with both hands and leaning forward almost against the horse’s neck.

The men gave chase just as she had hoped they would. No game was ever fun without a little bit of a challenge. Though despite her horse’s nervous nature, his speed was still clearly displayed and unmatched by the horses of her former companions traveling now farther and farther behind.

Losing them had been almost too easy. She could still hear their enraged cries in the far off distance, but at this point there was no chance of them finding her anytime soon. Neither one of them were skilled trackers and the young woman was a far better hider than most.

After what she judged to have been several miles of distance put between herself and her pursuers, the young thief slowed her horse down to a trot, taking note of her surroundings for the first time.

The forest was far greener than anything that could be found within the inner city walls of the capital where she was raised. Though during her travels she had become no stranger to the forests, she had never gone this far off the beaten path. Allowing herself to finally relax, the young woman loosened her grip on the reigns and sat up straight. The early morning sky was barely visible through the overhanging branches and canopies above, creating an eerie green glow in the world below. Birds could be heard singing among the braches, insects buzzed purposefully through the air. It could almost be described as peaceful.

Then the path opened up into a wide field, the overhang of trees left behind to the outpouring of a great blue sky. The grass was tall and thick, as if it had been undisturbed by life for centuries. Surrounding the clearing along its edges were tall cliffs of rock, and at the far end, no more than half a mile in distance away could be seen a steady waterfall pouring down from what the thief presumed to be a creek in the world above into a lake so blue it mirrored the sky perfectly.

But none of this is what caught the young thief’s attention. No, what struck her to the point of jerking her horse to a sudden stop was the tall, ancient stone tower standing proudly in the center.

Wherever she was now, whatever place she had just stumbled across, the young thief knew would be better left unexplored. If there was one thing she had learned in her line of work it was to trust her gut, and in that moment her gut told her to run, run far away and as fast as she could.

But she didn’t, because if there was one thing stronger than her intuition, it was her curiosity. And no amount of twisting in her stomach was going to hold her back from feeding this curiosity.

With one final kick to the horse’s sides, the young thief pressed onward and into an adventure for which no amount of imagination could have prepared her.


	3. Stuck in the Same Place I've always been

Bright orange splashes against a dark background, stroked and guided into a circular form glowing against muted blues. With precise flourishes and a careful eye, the young man paints a first of many warm floating lights amidst a dark evening sky.   
“You’re painting the lights again,” the chameleon noted, her eyes watching the young man’s movements carefully.   
“It’s almost time for them to return,” he responded, a certain glow in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He washes away the orange paint from his brush and dips the tip into a brilliant blue, painting a new light to match the one he had just finished.  
“Wouldn’t it be easier to paint all of the orange ones first before painting the blue ones?” the chameleon asked, looking as quizzical as a chameleon could possibly look.  
“Painting isn’t meant to be easy, Cube,” the young man explained, not taking his eyes away from his careful work. “Your hands have to follow what your mind feels, and sometimes that requires inconveniences.”   
The chameleon huffed in response. “She won’t be happy to see this,” she said in a hushed tone, a moment of hesitation taken as if she were choosing her words carefully.  
The young man stopped, his paintbrush held in suspension just before meeting the wall. The chamber had grown quiet, as if even the birds outside were under a spell of silence.   
“She… she doesn’t have to know,” the young man whispered after several moments of the unbroken quiet. His eyes darted around the chamber, as if looking for any unnoticed figures that may have been hiding in the corners, observing his movements. His eyes landed on one of the old worn sheets hanging on the edge of his bedframe, its purpose to use as protection for the wooden flooring when the inspiration to paint struck, but rarely used in the young man’s negligence.   
Jumping quickly to his feet the young man ran down the stairs to the bottom level of his chamber and retrieved the sheet, bringing it back up to where he had been painting in the corner of the upper level.   
“We’ll hide it,” he said, searching for an adhesive among his paints and other tools. “She’ll never have to see it.”  
“See what?”  
Silence took over the chamber once more. Where the young man had only moments before been rummaging around insistently he now knelt as still as death. The only sound that could be heard was the rapid beating of his heart ringing in his ears, and the sharp click of footsteps below. The chameleon turned a dark shade of grey and quickly ran to hide in a corner far, far away from this present location.  
The young man made no response; didn’t dare to even breathe lest he make an unwanted sound.  
“I know you’re here, and I don’t appreciate being ignored.” A cold voice echoed over the stone walls, sending chills in the air. The footsteps had stopped, where the young man could only guess at just before the foot of the stairs.   
Shaking, he stood to his feet, making his way over to the top of the stairs. His assumption had been correct. Though below him, the figure clad in a long dark dress, and white hair barely brushing over the tips of her eyebrows made him shrink back in fear, her electric golden eyes staring holes into his own.  
“There you are,” she said, her voice taking on a softer tone, and though she wore a smile it didn’t reach the displeasure in her eyes.  
“H-hello…” his voice came out in a shaky whisper, barely audible enough to be heard. He didn’t dare meet her eyes, keeping his own fixed at the spot just below her.  
“Hello whom?” she questioned, a sharp eyebrow raised in disapproval.   
“Hello mother…” he corrected himself, making his voice only marginally clearer now.  
“What are you hiding up there?” the woman asked, slowly beginning to ascend the stairs. The young man scrambled back, quickly returning to his painting and attempting to cover it with the sheet despite having never found the adhesive to hold it up. Even if he had he would not have been fast enough, for the woman was right behind him as soon as he turned his back.  
“Oh, this again,” the closeness of her voice was unexpected enough to make the young man jump. He had tried holding the sheet over his painting manually but dropped it from his hands when he had been startled. It crumpled to the floor, leaving the painting in clear view for the woman to see.  
The young man looked down at his feet, instinctively biting his lip to keep himself from trying to mutter apologies or explanations. Silence had always served him better when in her presence.   
The woman took a few steps closer, careful to avoid letting her long dress brush against the paint things still littering the floor. “Explain to me what this is,” she said, pointing a long white finger at the orange light.   
He kept silent, too afraid to speak, too afraid of the disapproval that was sure to come.   
It happened faster than he could react, a cold hand reaching out and grabbing him by the chin, forcing him to look up into her piercing yellow eyes. She was waiting for an answer, and the growing impatience was evidence on her face.  
He didn’t dare try to pull away, only glancing to the side so as to avoid her eyes. “A light…” he hesitantly responded, giving the barest minimum of an answer he could provide.  
“A light,” the woman echoed, an unsatisfied note ringing in her tone. “And where is this light?”  
“On the wall,” he responded smartly, realizing immediately after his mistake in answer.  
The woman’s eyes narrowed dangerously thin, the corners of her mouth turning downwards. Her hand gripped his face harder in warning. Don’t make me ask again.  
“Out-outside… in the sky,” he corrected himself, squirming at the increased pressure of her nails against his skin.  
“I see,” she released him, turning away to return to the bottom level of the chamber, a single finger raised and snapped in her direction as signal for the young man to follow. With hesitation, he complied, taking care to keep a safe distance between himself and the woman.  
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the woman pointed to the spot on the floor just before the last step. “Sit,” she commanded.  
Knowing that he was already in enough trouble as it were, the young man did as he was told. The woman took her own seat as well, sitting just two steps above him and beginning to harshly comb her fingers through his unkempt hair. He flinched at the touch, but made no further action of protest. It was the same every morning, but that never made the ritual more bearable.  
“How many times have you painted those lights?” she asked after a few moments of silence, working her fingers through a particularly stubborn knot and nearly taking out a large clump of hair with it.  
He waited a moment before answering, carefully considering his words. “A few times.”  
“And how many times have I told you to not paint those lights?” she asked, her voice growing slightly colder.  
“… A few times,” came his reply.  
“And yet you still keep painting them. Even though I’ve told you to stop. Are my words not making sense to you, or are you willfully disregarding my commands?” She yanked out the last of the knot with a forceful pull, nearly making him yelp from the action.  
“They’ll be coming back soon,” he explained, feeling a little braver now that he didn’t have to see her. Though it didn’t change the fact that her nails were still dangerously close to his eyes…  
Her hands stop their working, instead resting a little too tensely against his scalp. “Oh?”  
“I thought…” he started but hesitated on the next words, unsure if the risk of a negative response was worth chancing for a positive one. “Maybe I could… go see them?”  
Silence filled the chamber and for once the young man wished the woman would speak.  
She tightened her hands around his scalp and sternly turned his head to face her. “You wish to go see the lights?” she asked, an eyebrow raised in what appeared to be mock questioning.   
What little bravery he had moments ago was lost when faced directly with her again. He tried to shrink back but movement was limited while still in her firm grasp. “They’ll come back in two days,” he explained again, choosing to focus on her feet rather than her face. “They always appear on my birthday, and I’ll be eighteen this year so… I hoped…”  
“You hoped I would give you permission to run off to see lights in the sky just because you’ve reached a certain age?” the woman finished for him.   
The young man didn’t respond. He knew exactly where the conversation would turn now and that he had already lost any hope of a positive outcome.  
“Do you remember last year when you saw the lights?” the woman went on, her voice carrying a note of condescending irritation. “And you tried to show me, but they weren’t there? And the year before that? And the year before that? But every year they weren’t there. Do you know why they weren’t there?”  
“Because you just couldn’t see them,” he grumbled, barely audible but unfortunately loud enough for her to hear his words.  
She jerked his head up to look at her again, her face far too close to his own to be able to avoid her eyes now. “Because they weren’t real. The lights were never real. Just like the shadow that lived in the cupboard four years ago, or that chameleon you’re convinced talks to you. I’ve told you before, but since you clearly seem to disregard every piece of advice I so kindly give to you, let me explain it again. The human mind is like a box, and in that box everything is kept neatly and in order so as to keep unnecessary things from falling out. When things fall out of that box your mind is no longer in order and cannot work correctly because nothing is where it is supposed to be.” Taking one long white finger, the woman traces a square across his forehead. “Your box is broken, and everything is falling out. That’s why you see lights that aren’t really there. And if they aren’t really there, I can’t let you go chasing after them now can I?”  
The young man shifted uncomfortably under her touch, wanting to be anywhere else but there, anywhere but where he sat, burned into by her unforgiving gaze. He didn’t respond to her words, only giving a small nod that he knew she would expect as a minimum before continuing on.  
“I’ll say it once more,” the woman said coldly. “Forget about the lights, never bring them up again.”  
“Yes mother,” the words came out in a mumble, and he is finally released from her stare.  
“Good,” she turned his head back around and continued brushing out the last of his hair’s tangles, now attempting to tie back the long strands that always threaten to fall in his face. “Hold still; we have testing to take care of today.”  
“What are we going to test?” he asked, his voice remaining quiet but now taking on a solemn tone at the mention of that word.  
A dark smile plays across her face. “Fire.”

The large carpet in the center of the chamber was rolled back, revealing a wide circle of stone floor that appeared to have been painted over numerous times again and again. The young man knelt down to paint a series of strange designs on the floor, wrapped in a circle of various shapes and unusual lettering. No paintbrush is used, only his fingers, and underneath them a faint white glow can be seen if one were to look closely enough. When he finished, the young man stood up and took a step back, examining his work before glancing over to see the woman’s expression.  
A satisfied look came over her face. “Today we will be testing how well fire can be created through simple citrus fruit. Place this in the center,” she pulled a small ripe lemon from her sleeve and handed it to the young man, who obediently placed the fruit in the center of the circle.   
“Wouldn’t this be a waste of food?” he asked, less hesitant over the loss of a single lemon but rather wary of what was to come.   
“There is no such thing as waste when it comes to scientific exploration,” she said in a scolding manner. “Now proceed.”  
“I’m not very good with fire…” he tried to stall, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.  
“And I am not very good with providing patience to fumbling children, but we all have to make sacrifices,” she snapped. “Proceed.”  
Hesitating a moment longer, he eventually knelt back down at the edge of the circle, placing two fingers against the outer rim and closing his eyes.  
The difficult part had already been completed. Drawing the circle in just the right manner, inscribing the correct text between the inner and outer rim, making not even the smallest of mistakes of misplaced dripped paint, that was where the true part of the test lay. Now, the final piece of the puzzle was all that was needed to bring the test to life.  
Alchemy, the woman had always called it. The art of transforming one form of matter into another. Something that defied any laws of science the young man had learned, and he took it upon himself to study such things a great deal. No method had been discovered to change matter so distinctly it became an entirely new thing, let alone through a process as simple as this. Yet with the right inscriptions and patterns drawn by his hands, the young man could do things that contradicted every law of science he knew.   
It was a gift for which he had no explanation, and the woman desired for uses he couldn’t comprehend.   
He could feel it working, as he always could no matter how big or small the task. Like water wrung from a damp rag he could sense his energy drawn out, flowing from his fingertips and into the canvas of the floor. He thought he could smell something burning, but didn’t dare open his eyes until the energy ceased to flow, and he knew the process was over.   
But it didn’t stop. Minutes seemed to have passed yet the process didn’t end. It never went according to plan with fire. The burning only continued until he felt as if he would choke from the smoke threatening to break into his lungs. Why wouldn’t it stop? It wasn’t supposed to go on this long, why wasn’t it stopping?  
Another minute passed and panic began to set in. He couldn’t hold out much longer; his entire body felt like lead and the burning was only getting stronger. He needed to stop; he couldn’t let this go on any longer.  
He pulled away, flinging himself back away from the circle and finally opening his eyes. There was a loud crack and a great flash of light, and suddenly sparks were thrown in every direction of the chamber.  
“You failed. Again,” came the woman’s voice through the fog of smoke that now filled the chamber. She sounded disappointed, agitated, but somehow not the least bit surprised, which was almost worse than the disappointment. “You succeeded in bringing the lemon to a reasonable smolder, but unfortunately as always you could not hold it in tact and ultimately… blew it up. How sad.”  
The young man coughed, not even bothering to get back to his feet. He was too tired to move, even to try and air out some of the smoke that was dissipating far too slowly.   
“Maybe next time you’ll learn to not give up so easily and see things through to the end for once,” the woman continued, the sound of her shoes clicking against the stone floor and making her way to a window, opening it up and trying to fan out some of the smoke.  
“I have more matters to attend to, and unfortunately cannot be bothered to stay here and clean up this mess you made. I will be back before dark and I expect to see no trace of this failure when I return,” she continued, leaving the window open and going towards the door that lead down to the lower levels of the tower, grabbing her cloak and basket that sat in wait for her there.   
“Do not leave this room, do you understand?” she asked, turning to face him as she always did whenever leaving him alone.  
The young man met her eyes for a moment before turning away. “Yes mother.”  
The woman smiled, a cold upturned line of icy satisfaction. She left the young man sitting alone in the chamber, shutting the great wooden door behind her with a loud clank.

As she got closer, the tower loomed only darker and more menacing above her. When she finally arrived at its base, the horse now more skittish and wary than ever, she jumped down from his back and gave him a reassuring pat on the side of his neck. He had served her well, despite his uneasy and surprisingly difficult nature.   
There was no door, at least none that she could see. Guiding the stubborn horse behind her, the thief made her way around the outside of the tower, looking for a way inside. After walking the entire circumference, it became apparent that there was no door to ender through at all, at least none that could be seen.  
Crossing her arms, the thief stared up at the tower in frustration. She wasn’t going to give up so easily, and now that a challenge had presented itself she could not leave it unbeaten. Leaning against the wall, she stuck her ear to the side of the stone, listening for any signs of life inside or a whistling of breeze flowing through cracks of a hidden door.  
Before she had a chance to make anything out, the horse, in a sudden fit of agitation, pulled away from her grasp and stumbled back, nearly losing his footing over the uneven path and tripping on a large stone.   
The thief was about to scold him when suddenly the wall she had been leaning against seamlessly slid away, plunging her down into the darkness of the tower. Before she even had a chance to regain her footing, the wall slid back into place, taking away the last bit of light, and cutting off her only exit into the world.  
She had made it into the tower, whether she liked it or not.


End file.
